Kate's Song
by sansone
Summary: What does Gibbs do when he is not building his boat in the basement? One Shot. "His voice is like a blanket made of wool, she thinks. It scratches, it feels rough, but it also keeps you warm."


**AN: **It is not set in stone, but my head cannon is that Gibbs is singing Elton John's "Your Song", if you want to look up the lyrics ;D Hope you enjoy reading!

* * *

She volunteered. It was a good decision at the time, an efficient one, too, because no one else wanted to step up to the plate. Had she not muttered a low, _Fine, I'll do it, _they could still be playing the old I'll-stare-you-down-until-you-crack game. Gibbs' favorite. After her act of good will – _no ulterior motive there_ – McGee let out a sigh of relief and Tony patted her on the back, a sign of encouragement. _Or pity. _Yet, she just shrugged, like it was no big deal and she was not a lamb sent to the slaughter. No, Kate is a strong and independent woman and she is not afraid of –

Now that she is standing in front of Gibbs' house, she is having second thoughts. Kate feels kind of silly, lingering at the threshold between safe territory – the sidewalk – and dangerous territory – his front porch – because she shouldn't be intimidated. She knocks, he opens the door, she grins, he scowls, she rolls her eyes and leaves_. Simple as that_. But she surely tastes iron – _let it go! – _when her teeth finally release the poor sliver of lip. _Why did he forget his phone, damn it?! On a night when they are on call? _Kate takes a deep breath and steps towards the door, knocking lightly, _once, twice, _in anticipation of ruffled hair, sleepy Gibbs and oh, so much trouble.

She could open a bakery. She could resign. Before he has the chance to kick her out. She could – _wait. _That was anticlimactic. When no one opens the door, Kate looks around, then peeks through a window. The hallway light is on, but at the same time, it's eerily quiet and she doesn't know what to think anymore. She vaguely remembers him saying he keeps the door unlocked, _just in case, _so after a brief mental pep talk, Kate goes for it, and the screech of old hinges proclaims victory. Kate sighs.

"Gibbs?" she calls out, guided by pure intuition as she walks down the hall, takes a left, then crosses the living room and turns right to find another door. She's been here on occasion with the rest of the team, but never on her own.

She can hear music, the lazy sound of the radio, perhaps, buzzing softly underneath her feet. _There, _Kate has finally found Gibbs' basement, but the moment she opens the door, her heart sinks, anticipation makes her stomach churn, _whatever else happens – _she could sneeze a butterfly, if you must, one of the dozen, lodged themselves inside her. Above all, the music stops.

"Gibbs?" Her hand clings to the railing as she walks down the stairs with caution. She is at the final step when she dares look up and meets the stare of a casually dressed Gibbs, standing guard right in front of her.

"Kate," he merely states, as if he was expecting her visit.

She shivers at the thought, which unlikely as it is, is actually quite probable in Gibbs' case, given his psychic skills. "Hi, I just – well, actually – _you _forgot your phone, Gibbs." She tilts her head to the side with a soft grin, _keeping it cool, _before she fishes said device out of her coat pocket. "There you go."

Gibbs examines her carefully and under his scrutinizing gaze, Kate feels naked. Not no-clothes naked, but rather, _could he possibly tell I stared too long at his bare arms_-naked. At last, he takes his cell. "Thanks."

_That's it? _

Gibbs walks off to his work station. "You do know I have a landline, right?"

_Oh. _DiNozzo was sure to skip that part, the little – "Yeah. I'd take anything to double our chances of you picking up, though..." Her voice falters, when Gibbs' gives her a glare, reassuring her, _yes, Agent Todd, you said that out loud. _She looks around, before she adds, _insult to injury as a matter of fact_, "I mean, let's be honest, Gibbs, you don't have the greatest track record with technology." It takes some, but Kate holds his gaze after that. If anything, she can stand her ground, no matter the consequences.

Kate is no Abby, but somehow, Gibbs lets this one go, and _actually, _his stunned expression turns into a grin half-way. Then the grin is tamed to a smile and Kate reciprocates, but before it gets awkward, her eyes drop to the floor and _damn, _if that's not a –

"You play?" she asks, motioning to the guitar that has been shielded from her view, but with Gibbs propped on that wooden counter over there, she can see it now. "I used to play in high school," she offers, walking up to him. "Not the guitar, the French horn, actually. Marching band." She shrugs.

"Why?" he asks, picking up the guitar and _that image right there,_ of Gibbs in faded jeans and a black T-shirt, of Gibbs holding the guitar with quiet confidence, is enough to make her lose her train of thought.

"Excuse me?"

"Why'd you pick it?" A crooked smile is tugging at his mouth.

"They told me I couldn't do it. Too heavy." Kate shrugs a shoulder. "I haven't played in a long time, though–" her voice trails off, when Gibbs' torso twists to the side and he takes a guitar pick out of a box.

"But you did it anyway," he muses, chin tucked in as he starts playing a random progression.

"I did it anyway," she whispers, taking off her coat and draping it over a chair.

She tells herself she is not going to stay long; she only wants to hear him play for a bit. They are so busy at work, they rarely have the chance to just _breathe _and be. And now that she is leaning comfortably against the boat's frame with Gibbs tugging at the strings of a guitar before her, she can take a break. _Relax, close her eyes. _

Chocolate brown blows wide open when a progression turns into a recognizable melody, when a raspy voice joins in, quiet, yet confident. Kate takes in the downcast gaze, the way his fingers glide over the instrument with ease. _Muscle memory, _she thinks, before she finds herself engaging with him, with his performance.

It's the tiny motions, _the raise of an eyebrow, the ghost of a frown, _that get her attention at first, rather than the actual words. She notices how sound changes when he smiles, how his voice becomes softer, more open. Kate doesn't even need him to look up to know that he is smiling; she can simply listen, hear the nuances in tone, _listen. _His voice is like a blanket made of wool, she thinks. It scratches, it feels rough, but it also keeps you warm. All of a sudden, a shiver runs down her spine.

It is only when he gets to the end of the verse that her eyes open again, in surprise. His voice has been reduced to a whisper – _a confession, meant only for her ears. _Before his voice rises again and into the chorus, there is a moment of stillness, just the smooth sound of the guitar playing as Gibbs looks up, _at last_. Then holds her gaze for the remainder of it.

In the next verse, he plays around with the notes, his voice dropping down the scale_, down a landslide, _until he lets out a low chuckle and Kate's a goner. It is instantaneous, the urge that overcomes her; she wants to run away and never look back. It's irrational and she doesn't know how to explain it better, except for, _this would never be the voice to wake me. _

But she stays and she listens; to Gibbs' improvisation mid-song, to a voice set free to explore and run wild, _raw,_ yet he is contained in his range, never losing control. Before the final chorus, Gibbs just plays for a while, the same melody, over and over again and still, it is a buildup. Each time, the music becomes louder, more insistent, as if to demand Kate's attention, bring her back into the song, to his words, _one final time. _

Her hands are shaking by her sides and she balls up her fists. He can't see her weakness. Because she hates to admit it but _her attraction, _for lack of a better word, is a weakness. It makes her vulnerable, exposed. Just as he is right now when he reaches for that note, but it's a strain and it doesn't sound good. This is when she joins in, _on instinct, _her own voice playing harmony to his, supporting him. She thought she didn't even know the words, but the truth is, she does, and she sings to Gibbs, with Gibbs, and it's far from perfect, but together they finish the song.

When it's over, neither is willing to break the silence. Gibbs is not chatty on principle and Kate is at a loss for words, though she is quickly trying to regain her composure before he notices and calls her out on that (right now, he is busy putting the guitar away in its case).

"I think I should go," she whispers, absent-minded, her hand running over her coat. But instead of moving away from him, she comes closer to Gibbs. She's done it before – gotten in his face to prove a point, make a claim. But it's a different kind of proximity this time. She is almost afraid that there will be some repelling force, which won't let her make another move.

_There isn't_, scream the tips of her fingers, grazing over his shoulder, down his arm. _No way there is, _object her lips, pressed to the side of his neck, the lightest of contacts. _What is physics anyway, _wonder her palms, planted on his shoulder blades. _Is it something you buy on Amazon, _inquire the eyes when Kate pulls back to face him, questioning.

"We can't, Kate," Gibbs murmurs in the crook of her neck, wrapping his arms around her.

"I know, Gibbs. Kiss me anyway." She sighs, biting her lip when he kisses her cheek and pulls away.


End file.
